Fur Fag Friday
by scythelove
Summary: In which john and dave fall in love, do dirty things, be in derp with each other for ages, and john discovers what furries are and that jade isn't the only one that loves them. Dave/john smut, plot, the goodstuff, furries mentioned
1. Chapter 1

It's the day that your best friend, John Egbert, is going to finally arrive, crashing and floating and spinning and jumping no doubt, into your realm of phsyical existence. It's the day he will materialize from a two dimensional image on your screen, a voice humming over the sound of Bro cleaning out the microwave in order to whip up some freshly frozen bean burritos, into something tangible, real, and touchable. And maybe that's a bit why you're so nervous, why your day is starting like this. Because in four hours his plane will be touching down and shit, you're room is a mess, and your hair is a mess, and well fuck basically you're just a mess, because you're Dave fucking Strider and you either sleep naked or in your jeans what the hell is a pajama you ask. Either way. Your heart is pit pattering like a rap star scratching out lyrics while he pussies out in prison, since you know, they all do that, shit, but if you make it big, you will never be like that - and your fingertips are shaking as you press them to the keys on your computer, watching the screen flick to life.

There is laundry to shove out of the way, and you turn your attention there first. Anything embarassing is to be erased, and before long, you've got a trashbag full of smuppets on their way the fuck out of your room. Your nails scrape against the wall as you shove a pile of ironic books with ironic titles away from your being, your bare feet sliding along carpet that has seen cleaner days. You supposed you really should clean up more, but your sweet wicked turntables take up so much room, it would be far too much of a pain. That's what you tell yourself, anyways. In any case, soon it is just you, and one last corner of your room, that just so happens to be out of the range of the webcam attached to your snazzy computer device. It is a corner usually more or less hidden from the view of all, because within it is your beautiful collection of ironic or maybe not so ironic furry shit.

Yeah. Your collection of furry porn and fluffy tails you wear on your belt when you're sure nobody you know will be around, the small collection of comics you've bought off the internet, a bunch of cd's by various fur-bands and whatever they are called, all more or less taking up a rather insuspicious shelf. It is like that one corner of youtube you try to avoid no matter what, because after so many times of clicking on the reccommended videos you find yourself watching giraffes gargle salt water while raping an elephant.

And you know without any sense of a doubt that this must absolutely go.

But to where is what you must ask yourself. And soon you're starting to sigh, and you merely shove everything into various shoe boxes, stuffing them in the very deepest depths of your closet, even snagging a smuppet to put in that general area, either to ward off John or distract him. You hope it will work. His green fuzzy ass sure seems happy nestled among your porn and your old blankets, and well damn, you guess the little guy can feel loved for once because the second spring break is over and your buddy leaves it is adios muchacho for that little fucker.

Finally you stand, seeing a respectably ironic room and you sigh, letting your lips spilt just enough to show the confident smirk you are now wearing. John's gonna come in and fall in fucking love with your sexy hips and your cleanish room and everything will be sunshine and rainbows and shit not even Jade with her equal furry enthusiasm will ever know of your secret fetishims and you can go on being mr. badass with your poker face from the seventh ring of hell and bitches don't know shit about your carpet flooring. Today, decidedly, will be a good day. And that makes you feel pretty fucking great.

The next thing you've gotta do is brush your hair, so you do, pushing blonde locks away from your sunglassed face. Your lips are smooth as a smuppet's virgin ass and you brush the shit out of your teeth so that they look like you just waltzed out of the dentist's office dressed in flourine. A snazzy white suit made of flourine. That shit is nice. And then you're shrugging yourself into your usual get up, and lacing up your cherry red shoes and your glasses are still keeping your eyes hidden and then Bro is yelling and it's time to go and you're running out the door with the closet door shut and you're in the car and then you breathe because.

John. He's standing there, looking like the fucking Egderp he is. His skin is pale and looks so fucking soft, just like you imagined it would, taken out of the shitty comprehension of a webcam. His hair is a rich black, hanging down just past his adorable chin, his lips aren't pale like yours, their petal-pink and his eyes are huge and blue like his shirt behind his square glasses. His little buck teeth peek out over his bottom lip, and he just looks so perfect, so soft, so huggable and for some reason your thoughts are a lot more homosexual than you're used to. Even if you grudgingly watch two wolf boys go at it, you'd like to think yourself a functioning heterosexual, but this kid's got your heart beating so fast in two seconds and the best part hasn't even begun yet, the part where the two of you meet and shit gets bitchin.

Shit just got bitchin.

"Dave?" John says, and you let the most microscopic of smiles escape, opening your arms for his derpy ass to run into you like one of those silly nic cage movies where things that are all cheesy and shit happen and he does, bounding over to you like you're long seperated and little Casey is your baby and jegus bro is just some awkward bystander because he seems really uninterested in you two and very engrossed in the ventrilloquist with the mohawk down a few feet. He looks up at you like he can see right through your shades, and your nose scrunches up. "You Egbert. Have to say. I didn't expect this. Thought you'd be shorter." You murmur and he laughs, being extremely homosexual himself now that you think about it, his skinny white wrists digging into your hips. "Nope Dave! I'm as tall as they come! Im huuuugee," He responds and holy fucking shit they way you're smiling at each other this is really nice.

And again, you think you might be developing the slightest of man crushes on this kid. Fuck.

"You ready to go then, to the house of Strider? It's a fucking dangerous trip, not gonna lie." You proclaim this proudly and stare at his eyelashes and he giggles again like a fucking girl and oh god Rose was right, he's so fucking womanly. Bro reappears looking disappointed and ironic and shit and you just wave. His expression is mirroring that of a certain Mr. T themed puppet you recall vaguely. He doesn't say anything, even when it's your long lost best friend and he just starts walking to the car, pointy anime shades leading the way. "And that's bro." John shakes his head, scooping up your arm and running after the elder Strider.

Oh sweet fucking Jegus, you think. John is going to be your undoing if he gets anymore adorable.

Maybe this is what it's like to allow yourself to think you might be in love with your best friend.

* * *

><p>sorry, didn't really get to check for typos, i seriously need a beta.<p>

this is going to be a a smutty story about john and dave and dave's fur fetish.

i promise.


	2. Chapter 2

It's now the first monday of spring break, and John has been here for a full day only, and it has already been one of the best full days of your young teenaged lives you are sure. Last night you spent all evening watching shitty nic cage movies, and now, you are about to end the second full wonderful day with a bunch of microwaveable tv dinners with disgustingly grotesque cartoon characters dancing across the screen, and everything is gonna be fan fucking tastic. From the corner of your eye, you can see John nibbling with his cute little rodent teeth on the old silverware you gave him, eyes glued to the television as he sits in your computer chair, all folded up like a jack in the box, waiting to spring. Being the prankster that he is, you have no doubts he will, sooner or later. And this makes you smile, the corners of your lips tilting up just slightly and ruining your perfect poker face.

"Enjoying your new home, Egderp?" You quiz and he swings a heavy blue gaze your way, chirping back an appositive. It's the kind of day you'd give anything for, and you just don't want it to end. Reaching over, you grab the remote, and soon a battle ensues over the righs to the tv channels.

"Mine." You say with authority, but he reaches over, his shirt riding up to show his exposed and soft underbelly, and you can't help but stare for a breif moment behind your glasses before he's crashing over you, trying to take it as you tickle his sides. It's fucking hilarious and it's nice, and eventually, you let him win, and he goes back to happily staring at the screen.

"Okay, seriously dude," And then the two of you are squished up against each other on the floor. "I gotta shower. I'm verging on rank." John turns to you, pretending to sniff your light hair, before making gagging sounds and crawling away. "Oh god yeah, that's a good idea Dave." He says, and then he's getting smacked because shit you don't smell that bad okay, okay yeah. His cheek is turned to you and you see them swelling up with a smile and you just playfully smack at John's shoulder as you get up, wondering why everything the two of you do and say feels so fucking filrtatious all of the sudden and it's like sexual tension that you can't really tell if it's there... or not but it's more wonderful than awkward so you don't question. Because John's just probably a touchy sissy but you can't help yourself.

Last night when he was crawling up next to you in bed he pressed his cute little nose into your armpit and jeezus christ it made your skin crawl with happiness and sunshine and motherfucking rainbows and all you wanted to do was squeeze him closer, but of course you didnt. And at dinner, John kept trying to feed you god knows fucking why he ever thought that was okay, because you turned him down with the sternest of frowns everytime, but that didn't seem to faze him. He just keeps at this, all this adorableness - kicking puppets out of the way so he can sit with his head in your lap. You will never know why he suddenly doesn't care about being so fucking touchy - it's like the minute he set foot in Texas his fingertips became glued to your sides. You don't know him well enough to know if he's like that with everyone, though. So you find yourself confused but wondering but happy.

So you step into your small white bathroom shoving the door open even though it sticks, copious amount of puppet plush ass in the way, oh god did bro want him to wash these things? With his tidy whiteys? Not happening. You turn to the sink and stare at your sleep frazzled hair and the remnants of a late night on your cheekbones, that dewy look people get when their body is screaming for food but Bro hasn't woken up yet and he insisted on making pancakes for you two, ironically. That and eggs. With salsa. He apparently wanted Egbert to feel culturally expirienced, even though truth be told all Dave ever did if for some reason an egg made it into his house was boil them into chinese soup because shit that stuff was forty nine cents a seasoning packet and made a shit ton of soup. You aren't poor, exactly. Obviously, you live in a nice apartment, obviously bro had enough to buy all the game systems, the turn tables, and whatever else the two of you wanted, not to mention tons and tons of puppets, but it was universal law to live cheaply. Food was not high up on the house priority list and when you wanted to buy fifty million games you found the sweet art of cutting down all your other expenses to virtually nill in order to compensate for your middle class earnings.

This, however was the expception, for John Egbert coming over required the introduction of actual foods into your household and your actually weren't quite sure how much your digestive system would like that. Soon hot water was rolling over you, however, and most thoughts of gross, questionably prepared foods were out of your mind until you managed to step back out, water still rolling down your shoulders, to run a comb and some gell through your light hair. Your shades were fogged but you rubbed them against the end of your towel and slid them back into place, pulling clean clothes out of your secret clean clothes compartment - a red long sleeved shirt and black jeans, before opening the door, and yawning for ironic effect.

"Oh, Lucy, I'm H -" You started, but froze, your dated culture references caught in your throat at the sight before you. John was sitting in your computer chair again, his face glued to the screen, where two very hairy ...er, furry, young wolf men were unabashedly going at it. You couldnt' see his face from where you were standing, but yours froze, the blood draining out of your cheeks and your skin getting even paler oh jegus christ was that even possible you were pretty fricking pasty already this is like a scientific im fucking probability all up in this bitch wow.

Suddenly John seems to notice you, whipping around, his cheeks about three shades lighter than snow white's brand of lipstick. Strawberry coloring dusts across his nose and his cheeks and the tips of his ears, and his messy hair is sticking out everywhere, and yeah, you think, he kinda does look like snow white that would amuse you so much except your flipping all your fucking shits right now, you left them on the fire way to long and now you're double timing the shit flipping to keep everything unburnt and sacred but you know you're already too late.

"Why are you on my computer John?" You ask, sounding a bit more guilty than you wanted to, and suddenly everything is very, very awkward. You don't even know how he came across that site - a webcomic that you had titled something vaguely academic and hidden deep within your favorites. But he did, probably because he's a dork, and wanted to know about how to make a fuckin lemon battery oh god what the fuck jegus christ lemon battery was such an ironic cover up title you were some damn proud of yourself for that one.

"I ..um, I ...well," John trailed off, fidgeting sheepishly, not seeming to have an answer. For a minute the two of you just looked around, avoiding each other's gaze, before John finally breaks your mortified silence.

"I thought it was actually kind of interesting." He finally admits, his cheeks turning deeper, and so much has been said in that sentence because his finding of your gay man animal porn kind of more or less revealed your not so blatant homosexuality and the furry thing well that wasn't really that broadcasted either so yeah. But. John. What. He was reading it ...obviously. John was reading your gay man porn. With wolves. He was reading it. That was not the page you left on. And his face didn't look disgusted, only embarassed.

John was reading your gay man wolf porn and he was liking it.

John was gay and possibly wasn't aversed to the idea of wolf men.

Oh god you were going to pass out.

"Yeah... well um ...this is awkward." You were never so completely devoid of eloquence in your life surely for years you would remember this lapse of awesome and hit yourself for it. John seemed to agree, finally looking up, blue eyes wide.

"So ...aren't these furries?" He asked, seeming to try and clear the awkward, by embarassedly pointing behind him to the screen, asking you to explain. You walked forward robotically, jaw set in a deep deep frown. You didn't even bother looking at John, but pointed at the screen. "Um. Yeah." John nodded, squirming in the seat. He kept looking at you, at the screen, at his hands, at the wall, and then back to you.

"Dave."

"Yeah."

"I'm actually a homosexual."

"Yeah okay me too."

"Well that was kind of obvious."

"Shut the fuck up, Egbert."


End file.
